


Gun to a Knife Fight

by Markovia



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Anri/Izaya, Assault, Blood, F/M, Implied Shizuo/Izaya, Knives, M/M, Multi, Sex, Violence, rare pairs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-07 06:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11053620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markovia/pseuds/Markovia
Summary: 'Don't want. Don't love.' Saika refuses to cut Izaya, no matter how much she tries to force to blade through her body. Even Saika doesn't love him.





	1. Oh, but I could be

**Author's Note:**

> I recently bought the sixth novel and the image on the front sort of put this story in my head. Goodness knows I love me some angsty hate sex. Hope you enjoy!

The young woman often wanders the streets at night. Many might not, especially not with the rumours of gang violence, serial killers and the Headless Rider being whispered through the city. Anri doesn’t care, she’s never felt unsafe in Ikebukuro, not truly. How could she when the gangs are run by her best friends, the Headless Rider is a polite acquaintance and the voice in her head is the source of the killings. While the murders may not be dealt by her hand, she feels responsible. Saika has been a part of her for such a long time and she hears the words of her sisters when they turn their blades on others. 

 

_ Love, love, kill, cut, show, love, want. _

 

Anri knows it’s wrong, that’s why she tries to keep Saika’s voice as quiet as she can. It’s been years so she’s mastered the skill fairly well. There’s only one situation in which she cannot control the demon and it happens again on the night of her birthday. It’s a normal evening, around nine, and she’s walking through the deserted park near her apartment. Part of her wishes she had told Mikado and Masaomi that it was her birthday - eighteen was a big age, after all. But things are difficult, she knew that they wouldn’t reply even if she tried to contact them. Something rotten was in the air, she could feel something brewing. 

 

Therefore, the girl sits alone on a park bench beneath a flickering streetlight and eats the cupcake sent to her by Karisawa. The thought of the energetic otaku brings a small smile to her face. Anri has grown quite fond of her in the past few weeks, she’s clearly been dragging her out of the house to take her mind off the state of her old friendship group at present. The effort is appreciated more than Erika will ever know. The cupcake is overly sweet but she wolfs it down regardless, even licking the remains of the sparkly pink frosting from the tips of her fingers. With a satiated sigh, she folds her hands together in her lap and leans back so that her head is resting on the back of the bench. It’s a nice night, the air is cool and the lack of wind means that there is no chill in the breeze. She closes her eyes as the streetlight flickers out entirely. Anri doesn’t care about the dark, she’s been a part of it for a long time. A moment passes. From beside her, a gentle breath. Immediately her hackles are up and her eyes snap open. 

 

The park is almost pitch black, the only light coming from the few stars visible through the clouds above, so she doesn’t see anyone around her at first. Anri makes a move to stand but hands on either of her shoulders hold her firmly down. She thinks of drawing Saika or letting her stab through the hands until the moment they disappear. Suddenly there’s cold metal pressing against her throat and fingers raking through her hair to yank her head back. Anri opens her mouth to speak but she’s interrupted by whoever dips their head from their position behind her and nuzzles their cheek against hers. 

 

“Calm down, Miss Sonohara,” a familiar voice purrs. “Wouldn’t want you to cut yourself.”

 

Anri wants to vomit at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his breath warm against her skin. She knows  _ exactly  _ who this is. “Going to kill me, Izaya?”

 

He laughs, high pitched and unpleasant. “Not tonight. I'll let you off since it's your birthday and all. I was simply in the area and thought I'd remind you of something.”

 

_ Don't want. Don't love.  _ Saika refuses to cut Izaya, no matter how much she tries to force to blade through her body. Even Saika doesn't love him. 

 

“Drop the knife,” she warns, her heart beating ten to the dozen. Izaya chuckles, this time low and rumbling in his chest. He presses his lips to the side of her neck, just where her jugular resides. 

 

“But we’re having so much  _ fun.  _ Plus  I know you're into knives, so why would I?”

 

She begins to panic then, as his fingers drag harder against her scalp and the blade presses further, enough to draw a trickle of blood. She's more worried about the way he’s sucking on the skin below her ear and how the sensation is horrible, dangerous but also  _ fuck- _

 

“Get off of me,” she hisses. “Before I cut you with Saika and make you walk into a river.”

 

“We both know you won't do that,” he hums. The fingers in her hair switch from painful to pleasant, raking back and forth almost playfully. “ _Can't_ do that. Saika doesn't like me, does she? She prefers Shizu-chan.” Anri opens her mouth to retort but is cut off when he snidely adds; “Plus, you hate using her don't you? Pathetic.”

 

Anri wishes that her position beneath his blade was less precarious or she would smack him in his smug, stupid face. He was right - the demon blade still refused to be wielded, clearly disliking the information broker. “Saika is part of me. I don't hate her. I  _ despise _ you though.”

 

“How mean,” he comments. He's still kissing her neck and it’s worrying her because it’s starting to send shivers down her spine. She’s well aware that he is doing this to aggravate her, not for any intimate reason. “Well then, I guess you’ll be happy to hear I hate you too.”

 

“Fuck you,” she snarls, almost spitting the words. Her throat rolls against the blade but she doesn't care. “I think Shizuo’s nickname ‘bloodsucking flea’ is perfect for you.”

 

Izaya just laughs and his lips move back to her ear so that he can speak low and soft. “Maybe we can be parasites together, Anri.”

 

The girl tenses, angry at his use of her terms. With great effort, she forces the smallest amount of Saika forward through her neck, just where Izaya’s blade is, and pushes away from the bench so that she is standing. His fingers leave her hair with a little pain, enough to cause her to hiss loudly into the quiet of the park. When she turns she can finally see him, now sitting on the back on the bench with his feet resting on the seat. Even in the dark his bright, nasty eyes stand out. As usual, he’s dressed in that strange fur-lined jacket and all-black clothes - she wonders if he wears them to blend into the pitch of the night so he can slip past the crowd, unseen. The switchblade that was against her throat is still between his fingers, delicately held as if it’s something precious rather than a common weapon. Anri tries to call Saika out again but the demon is oddly absent. 

 

_ No, no, no love, not him, hate, no- _

 

So even Saika hates him. 

 

“Not drawing your weapon?” he asks, cocking his head to one side. He  _ knows  _ and suddenly, without her demonic acquaintance to hand, she feels the first prickle of fear. “I would have thought you would want to protect yourself.”

 

“Why are you here?” she replies, ignoring his question. “What do you want?”

 

“I declared war on you, didn’t I? I’m just here to cause a little chaos,” Izaya smirks and she can almost feel the hatred rolling off him in the space between them. His gaze languidly moves up and down her body and Anri stiffens, now uncertain of the glint in his eye. “You turned eighteen today, right?” 

 

Anri hesitates, takes a step back. Izaya moves too fast for her to react and suddenly the switchblade is at her throat again, his hand curled around the front of her jumper. He laughs highly and she headbutts him, hard enough to knock him away and silence the stupid sound. When he staggers backwards, one hand flying to caress his sore nose, Anri turns on her heel and starts to run. She only makes a few feet before a heavy weight collides with her back and she’s sent crashing to the floor. Her front collides with the soft grass but it still hurts, especially with Izaya’s bony knee digging into the base of her spine. 

 

“Get off!” she cries, writhing to try and shake him off. His legs are splayed across her backside, hips grinding down onto her and she screams just as he reaches forward and clamps a hand over her mouth. His head is just above hers now, chest flat against her back, and he’s breathing down her neck. Anri tries to claw at him with her hands but the position is too awkward and she can’t reach him properly. 

 

“Calm down, Miss Sonohara,” he cooes, nuzzling her hair with the side of his cheek. “I’m not going to  _ do  _ anything.”

 

He says that but she can feel his other hand sliding up her thigh, beneath her skirt. It’s only then that Saika’s voice bursts into life again in her head. 

 

_ Danger, danger, save, help, children, find- _

 

Anri can feel the demon pulling threads to find the nearest children, hoping to save the host she lives within from the creature atop her. Izaya seems to sense something too and halts the hand on her leg at mid-thigh. He squeezes the muscle there a little too tightly, then releases her and stands up. Anri flips around so she can face him and props herself up on the heels of her hands. Izaya steps back so there is a little distance between them and he shrugs with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

 

“Unfortunately I’ll have to cut our little meeting short today,” he says, as if he’s genuinely sorry. His gaze moves up, away from Anri, toward the entrance of the park. “But I’d rather keep my bones from being broken.”

 

The girl raises a brow in question just as a trash can goes flying over her head toward Izaya, who swiftly steps to one side to avoid it. Instinctively she scrabbles up onto her feet and turns to see Shizuo Heiwajima storming toward them.

 

_ Love, Shizuo, love, love, cut- _

 

“Iz-ay-a!” the blond growls, a wolfish grin spread across his face. “How many times I gotta tell you to stay the fuck outta ‘Bukuro?”

 

Izaya giggles and gives Anri a wink before turning on his heel. “At least once more, Shizu-chan.”

 

With that, he speeds off into the darkness, leaving Anri and Shizuo standing beside one another. The man in the bartender uniform gives her a cursory glance but she can see that his fists are still clenched and that he wants to chase Izaya down as soon as possible. 

 

“You okay?” he asks, gruffly. “Did that shitbag hurt you?”

 

She shakes her head. Shizuo raises an eyebrow and his gaze moves over her rumpled clothes, now dirtied by the ground. His eyes bulge with anger. 

 

“Did he-?”

 

Anri shakes her head again. “No.”

 

Shizuo doesn’t seem to hear her through his rage and soon he’s vanished into the night after the information broker, howling his name into the night. The girl moves back to the bench and flops down, trying to stop her hands from trembling so violently. 

 

_ I declared war on you.  _

 

She lets the tip of Saika slide out of her hand and she observes the blade silently for a moment. Somehow she would need to gain better control of it. Perhaps Miss Kujiragi could help, if she asks nicely. The declaration of war cannot go unnoticed any longer, not after tonight. Anri drops her head onto the back of the bench and closes her eyes. Izaya Orihara would have to die. 

 

 

 


	2. Something else, entirely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up. I'm having a lot of fun writing this, so indulge me the weird plot.

It’s raining outside. Though she can’t see them in the darkness she can hear the droplets, noisy against the enormous sheet of glass at the end of the office. Anri’s sat awkwardly on a chair in the centre of the room, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. The woman in yellow is opposite, sat on the other side of the desk, eyes dark behind her glasses. 

 

“Orihara? Yes, I know him,” Kasane says, in that ever-bored tone of hers. She drops the pen she had been writing with onto the desk and lays her chin across her knuckles. “I had the little shit stabbed not too long ago.”

 

Anri grimaces and laces her fingers together in her lap. She's more than a little intimidated by the woman sitting behind the desk but she raises her head and straightens her back to show that she is not afraid. The news mentioned the stabbing incident a while back, she remembers hearing it on the television. She remembers thinking ‘ _ good, he deserves it _ ’. 

 

“I need to learn to wield Saika better,” Anri continues. “Because of Izaya. I couldn't get her to do what I wanted when he was around.”

 

Kasane taps her fingers against the polished wood of her desk as if impatient. “Saika doesn't like him. I don't think anyone or anything on this Earth does.”

 

The bespectacled girl can’t help but laugh at that and even Kasane cracks a slight smile. It’s pretty, it amplifies her already ethereal beauty, but it soon descends back into a hard line. It's clear she’s something alien when she smiles, perhaps that's why she doesn't bother. 

 

“Could you teach me?” Anri asks, nervously. “You’re a lot more experienced with Saika, you can do so much more with her than I imagined possible. And I- and I know that he’s going to come after me. I want to be able to stand up to him if he again tries to-”

 

She pauses and her brows furrow in the centre of her forehead. Kasane observes her silently for a moment, not missing the shudder that clearly runs down the girl’s spine or the slight trembling of her laced fingers. The older woman frowns and drops her hand down onto the desk. It’s not that she likes Anri, she doesn’t really like anyone, but she respects her as a competent wielder of Saika. Far more than that Haruna girl, at least. 

 

“Tries to what?” she says, curiously. Izaya Orihara is a dangerous man, that she is well aware of, but she can’t imagine what threat he could possibly be to one of Saika’s daughters. 

 

Anri shakes her head and looks back up at Kasane with a weary smile on her face. “Doesn't matter.”

 

Kasane hums her disapproval but drops the matter. She muses on the girl’s smile - it is far too old for her young face but somehow it suits her. With a sigh, she folds her arms across her chest and when she next blinks her eyes turn a vibrant scarlet. “Saika won't affect Orihara, even if you cut him. If you stab him with the blade it will affect him only as a normal sword.”

 

“That's not the issue,” Anri frowns. Cutting Izaya, stabbing Izaya - that doesn’t bother her. She opens one of her palms face up and the demon blade slides smoothly out from the skin, shining in the light. “I couldn't even draw her out last time.” 

 

“How stubborn. Just be more assertive, she’ll listen eventually,” Kasane replies, eyeing the sword carefully. The blade had done something similar to Kasane a very long time ago, there were certain people that the demonic force disliked enough to defy its wielder. If it refused to be drawn on Orihara, things could potentially get troublesome. Her gaze shifts to Anri’s face, to the glowing red eyes that match her own. “I can assist you with the rest of the skills you may need to learn.”

 

Anri smiles gratefully and nods her head with new enthusiasm. Saika disappears back into her body and her eyes dim back into brown. “Thank y-”

 

“But not this week,” Kasane interrupts. She drops her arms and picks her phone up off the table, swiping the screen to unlock it. “I will be leaving for a conference early tomorrow morning.”

 

The girl’s good mood vanishes almost immediately. She wants to tell Kasane  _ that's not good enough. _ That  _ she might be dead by then _ .  _ Dead or worse.  _ But she doesn't for fear of angering the strange woman. Instead she nods her head and keeps her eyes focused on the floor. 

 

“Okay,” she answers. “That’s- I will see you when you return.” 

 

She leaves quickly after that, not wanting to stay under Kujiragi’s sharp gaze any longer than necessary. Her pulse is beating a rapid rhythm against the skin of her wrists and she has to clutch her chest in the elevator down to the exit to try and calm herself down. Anri has never had a panic attack before so the experience is terrifying. The sudden clamminess that washes over her skin and the dreadful shaking of her limbs makes her want to throw up. She lets the elevator doors close but doesn't press any buttons so that she can slid to the floor and curl her knees into her chest. Breathing becomes so difficult around the staggered shaking of her muscles but she knows that she has to try and steady herself. 

 

_ Izaya was going to kill her.  _

 

Her eyes snap open, as if she’s scared that he might have slipped silently into the elevator with her. Hastily, she clambers to her feet and presses the button for the ground floor. The machine rumbles to life and the slightly sickening sensation of moving down turns her stomach. With a few long drags of oxygen, Anri begins to feel normal. She keeps her hands against the wall until the elevator slows and the doors rattle open, at which point she pushes herself away and plasters a nonchalant expression on her face. 

 

Nothing’s wrong. She exits the lobby with her hands tightly clutching the strap of her satchel. 

 

Everything’s fine. It’s dark outside now and the rain is still pouring from the sky, so she looks for a place to shelter while she calls a cab. There’s an empty shop doorway a few metres away, so she quickly sprints through the downpour into the small but dry area. The shop itself is closed so she doesn’t feel guilty about blocking anything and this is an oddly quiet area of the city, one of the upmarket business areas where few would choose to spend their time outside of work. 

 

Anri removes her phone from her pocket and begins to type a known taxi number. She doesn’t mind spending money on frivolous things like this, her parents left her enough to sustain her for a number of years. In addition to her savings, there’s the monthly packet of cash that turns up on her doorstep. She knows it’s from the man with one eye who has watched over her for years but they never mention it to one another. There’s an unspoken agreement - she won’t ask him how he got the money, he won’t ask her to use Saika for anything related to his ‘business’. 

 

_ Parasite.  _

 

There’s no mobile signal where she’s standing, so she lets out a frustrated sigh and grits her teeth together.  There’s someone passing her position in a hurry so she reaches out with one arm and lets Saika dip into their covered elbow. The man gasps, then his mouth drops and he turns to face her with newly-glowing eyes and a vacant expression. He’s getting soaked to the skin so she tries to be brief. 

 

“Mother,” he states, solemnly. 

 

“Do you have a mobile phone?” she asks. The man nods and points to his pocket. “Good. Carry on to your destination. As soon as you have mobile signal call a taxi for me and tell them to meet me here. Once you’ve done that, delete your call history and go home.”

 

“Yes Mother,” the man answers, nodding slowly. He turns back in the direction he was walking and sets off at that hurried speed once again. 

 

Anri slides Saika back into her body and sits down on the floor underneath the cover, feeling thoroughly glum. The rain is so thick that she can barely see the other side of the road. Shame, she thinks, it was such a pleasant evening yesterday. As she sits in thought, she makes the decision to call Mr Akabayashi when she gets home. Perhaps he can help her somehow, maybe secure her home for her. He’d never spoken about the information broker, so she was still uncertain of his feelings toward the man but if she were to guess, she’d say he despised him. He was oddly moral like that. Anri frowns and draws her knees up to her chest so that she can rest her forehead on them. It was awful, feeling unsafe like this. Thanks to Saika she’d never been uneasy, she’d been powerful, always. 

 

_ Love, love, cut, love! _

 

“Hey uh- what’s your name again?” 

 

At first she’s worried it's  _ him  _ but no, the tone is wrong and Saika is singing _.  _ The girl looks up, recognising the familiar, gruff voice. Shizuo Heiwajima is stood in front of her, wet clothes clinging to his skin, hair dripping with water. There’s a diluted bloodstain on his shoulder but he doesn't seem to be bothered by it. The rain, the blood, they suit him. Anri looks him up and down as quickly as she can - he’s not bad looking when he’s not beating the shit out of someone. Somehow he’s still smoking and the cherry red light shines brightly in the dark of the evening. Anri stands up hastily and pats down her skirt so she can bow slightly. 

 

“Mr Heiwajim-”

 

“Shizuo. Don't bow, I don't like it.” 

 

“Ah, um. Shizuo,” she rambles. She’s slightly perturbed to see him here and looks either side of him to see if the informant is close behind. They’ve always been a pair - ying and yang, fire and ice. Without Izaya, there would be no Shizuo. “I’m Anri Sonohara. We met last night and um, a couple times before.”

 

“Sorry, I’m shit with names,” he comments, shrugging his shoulders. “I remember your face though.”

 

The way his gaze briefly flicks to her chest suggests it’s not her  _ face  _ that he remembers. Anri chews the inside of her mouth but feels slightly relieved that he’s here. There was no way Izaya was getting to her with Shizuo around. One of his strong hands is clenched around a bottle of wine. She imagines him smashing it into Izaya’s face. 

 

“What you doin’ anyway?” Shizuo asks, eyes back on hers. “It’s a bit late, ain’t it?”

 

“I uh- yes. I was meeting an acquaintance but um, I didn’t realise how late it had gotten. I was trying to get a cab but-” she gestures to the empty road. She plays pathetic but gets the feeling that he sees straight through it. Of course he does, he’s seen through Izaya since the day they met and she’s far less convincing than that  _ liar.  _ “There’s nothing around and my phone is getting no signal. I was hoping to wait the rain out a bit and then maybe head somewhere a bit busier.”

 

The ex-bartender flicks his cigarette onto the floor and studies her for a moment before jerking his head to the right. “I live right near here, why don’t you come wait it out at mine? I can call you a cab from the home phone. It ain’t safe being out this late.”

 

“You’re out this late,” she replies, before she can stop herself. 

 

Shizuo laughs, the sound a deep rumble starting in his chest. “Yeah, but I’m me. People don’t really fuck with me.”

 

The girl wants to tell him that people don’t  _ fuck  _ with her either, not unless she tells them too, but she keeps her mask firmly in place. Saika’s going crazy in her head but she manages to quiet the cursed voices down as she tries to speak. 

 

“Apart from Izaya,” he continues, lowly. “He fucks with me. Lousy fleabag. Jus’ so you know I managed to clock him in the side with a trash can yesterday. He’ll have a few busted ribs - not that injuries have ever stopped him walking round ‘Bukuro like he owns the place, so keep an eye out.” 

 

Anri grimaces, thinking  _ Izaya fucks with her too.  _ She wonders about the blush on his face and whether it is caused by more than just anger. 

 

“Um, well-”

 

Shizuo pulls another cigarette out of his top pocket and manages to light it despite the hideous rain. “Nothin’ weird, sorry. I’d just worry if you ended up runnin’ into-” he pauses, takes an angry drag of his smoke, then continues. “-into someone bad.”

 

Anri almost smirks, thinking  _ aren’t we bad too, Shizuo?  _ His smile makes her believe he’s thinking the same thing. But her mouth remains in a dead line. She looks up at him through her lashes, behind the glasses she doesn't even need unless she’s reading and nods. 

 

_ Shizuo, love, cut, Shizuo.  _

 

“Sure,” she says. The man grins and she steps out into the rain beside him, shielding her head with her satchel. “But I'll need to dry my clothes.”

 

“I'm sure I'll have some you can borrow while they're drying. If you  _ want _ them,” he says, so  _ obviously.  _

 

It's obvious what he wants from the flush on his rain-stained cheeks and the slightly tipsy, coy look in his eye. He’s a bit older but she doesn't care, Saika makes her feel old anyway - there are years of mad love spinning in her head. For a moment she wonders if Izaya sees himself in a similar way to Saika. But Izaya isn't powerful like her - he’s fast, he’s smart but he’ll never be like the two people here standing in the rain. It's natural for them, the power is barely a second thought. 

 

Saika _screams_ _SHIZUO SHIZUO LOVE LOVE_. Anri soothes her, tells her _yes, soon_ and takes his offered arm. He’s warmer than she thought. Warm in a way that Izaya and Mikado will never be. 

 

It worries her that she thought of Izaya first.

 

It worries her more that she sees a glimpse of fur flitting around an alley corner ahead of them. 

 

-0- 

 

It’s midnight when Izaya arrives home and Namie is  _ pissed.  _ She can’t clock out until he tells her and for once he doesn’t answer his phone. When he strides through the door, soaked to the skin by the dreary rain outside, she’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, wearing a set of his pajamas. There’s a large bowl of noodles on her lap which she’s slurping noisily and an open bottle of wine on the coffee table. Some late-night quiz show is blaring loudly in the dim apartment and the flickering light of the television turns the walls various colours. When he shuts the door, her head snaps to look at him and her eyes narrow. 

 

“Where the fuck have you been?” she says, sharply. She slams the bowl of noodles down next to the bottle and folds her arms across her chest. 

 

Izaya laughs incredulously, looking her up and down. “Why are you wearing my clothes?”

 

“I missed my last train,” she replies, angrily. “I’m staying here. You’re sleeping on the couch.”

 

“Oh Namie,” he cooes, shedding his wet coat. He drops the sodden material onto the floor and makes his way over to the lounge so he can collapse into the armchair to Namie’s right. “Can’t we sleep in the same bed?”

 

The woman glowers at him and her nose wrinkles in disgust. “I’d rather bathe in acid.”

 

“Then you can take the sofa,” he snorts, snatching the bottle of wine up from the table. He turns it around, observing the label. “This is mine, it was expensive.”

 

“You kept me waiting until midnight without any message of when I could leave,” Namie retorts. “Consider it my overtime.”

 

Izaya stands so he can retrieve a glass from the wooden cabinet beside the television. He pours a large glass for himself and drops back into the armchair, causing wine to spill over the rim onto his jeans. They’re already soaking from the rain so he doesn’t give it a second thought and takes a large gulp of the red as he watches Namie. She looks good in his pajamas, he might start being late on purpose. He smirks to himself and lowers the glass onto the arm of the chair so that he can tilt his head against the knuckles of his free hand. 

 

“What were you doing out so late?” she asks again. She swings her legs up onto the end of the sofa and leans back against the plush cushions propped up against the arm. “Don’t tell me if it’s disgusting.”

 

It’s  _ hideous _ , he thinks, but he tells her anyway. “I wanted to pay Shizu-chan back for bruising my ribs so I tailed him for a little while.”

 

Namie rolls her eyes - he’s obsessed with that man, she almost wonders if he’s mistaking hatred for love. “If you need first aid go speak to your creepy school friend. I hate touching your scrawny body.”

 

“Darling, you  _ wound _ me,” he cries, feigning insult. He moves his legs up onto the arm of the chair and swings them freely in the air. “No, we didn’t fight. Shizu-chan was otherwise  _ occupied. _ ”

 

Namie hums. “You mean-?”

 

Izaya nods and takes another sip of his wine, eyes dark with thought. What he’d seen could cause issues considering his latest goal is obtaining Saika. The cursed sword doesn’t like him, that’s obvious and he thinks it’s because their desires are the same.  _ Power, chaos, love, control _ . He already has Haruna under his thumb and she is proving a useful tool in his arsenal - he’ll wait until she’s become expendable before getting rid of her. She’s annoying, so he knows that he’ll relish dropping her lifeless body into a ditch on the outskirts of the city. The informant is smart enough to know not to mess with Kujiragi - he’s got a nasty scar on his waist to remind him of that. Perhaps, he thinks, when he has two Saika blades in his grasp he will be able to take her down. Anri was the final target, the perfect target. He doesn’t like the girl, she’s little more than a leech in his view, so rather than lure her under his command as he had with Haruna he thought  _ war  _ the more fitting option. But with Shizu-chan around, the sword and the girl would be more difficult could get to. His lip curls - that monster is always getting in the way. 

 

“Uh huh. With one Anri Sonohara.”

 

“The girl with the sword? Jeez, cradle-snatching isn’t he?” 

 

“I don’t blame him, she’s physically attractive although her personality leaves much to be desired. But don’t worry Namie, thanks to the internet, even a woman of your age can still get laid,” he sneers. Her face flushes with anger and she chucks a pillow at his head which causes him to knock the rest of the wine over his chest. The informant laughs maniacally and jumps onto his feet. He approaches her and sheds his shirt.

 

“You’re cleaning this up!” he chuckles, throwing the sodden material onto her head.

 

Namie rips the shirt away from her face and launches it over the back of the sofa. Her eyes move up and down his torso, then her lips purse. “Put some clothes on, you’re disgusting.”

 

Izaya sighs dramatically and flops forward onto the sofa, snuggling against his angry, writhing secretary. He wraps his arms around her waist and clings on tightly so that she cannot throw him off despite her furious struggles. 

 

“I know you love me deep down, Namie.”

 

“I wish you’d die, you piece of shit!” 


	3. Out of my burning hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, I may have lied. This might be a bit longer than expected as I've redrafted the timeline. I'm having a lot of fun with this one - hope you enjoy!

“Do you  _ have _ to smoke after?”

 

Namie glares at him and takes a pointedly long drag of her cigarette before blowing the smoke in his face. “I have to get the foul taste of  _ you  _ out of my mouth.”

 

Izaya grins lazily and laces his fingers behind his head. He’s laying flat on his bed with the duvet covering the lower half of his body. She’s sitting upright beside him, wearing his shirt and boxers, tapping ash carelessly into the glass of water he’d poured for himself earlier. The smoke is unpleasant but he decides not to begrudge her the privilege, he knows he only hates it so much because it remind him of Shizu-chan. He looks up at her, taking in the way her hair is mussed and her skin is sweaty and pink. There’s a set of vicious bites on her neck and scratches along the pale thighs that are stretched out next to his torso. He reaches out to trace the marks with the very fingernails that made them. She narrows her eyes but she doesn’t stop him. 

 

“If you don’t like the taste, don’t swallow,” he sneers, encompassing her knee with his palm. 

 

The woman balks and lowers the cigarette until it’s hovering over his knuckles. “I hate you.”

 

“I know,” he sighs. Namie presses the burning hot tip against his hand and he groans. The pains makes a flush spread over his face and his hips buck into the air. All too soon it’s gone and he lets out a shaky breath, eyes opening to stare at her. 

 

“You’re so disgusting,” she states, placing the cigarette back into her mouth. “I bet you get off when Shizuo hurts you.” 

 

“Ugh, don't say such foolish things.”

 

They don’t do this because they like each other, they do it because they’re lonely. Because strangely, they understand one another. There’s an itch to scratch, a natural human need for closeness and luckily neither of them really care enough to be ashamed about their emotionless fucking. Namie always finishes with her eyes shut, clearly thinking of someone else. Oddly enough Izaya keeps his eyes open, he likes watching her features twist into ugliness when she shudders against him. He’s not sure how he feels about this woman. Namie’s  _ here, _ almost comforting despite her prickly personality. He’s accepted, albeit with disdain, that she might be the nearest thing he has to a normal human relationship. That irritates him,  _ she  _ irritates him, but he doesn’t care, there’s not much he can do about it. 

 

This  _ development  _ first started three months ago, from one too many whiskeys and their equally competitive nature when it came to a game of ‘Truth or Dare’. Namie had been appalled when she woke that following morning but after it became a more regular, sober occurrence she seemed to relent. Now, as she currently is, she just sits and smokes and bitches about how shit he’d been that night. 

 

“When are you going to stop being such a pillow princess?” she asks, snidely. The way she looks down over her nose makes him grimace but he pushes himself up and rolls over so his arms are on either side of her marked thighs and his torso is draped across her skin. He grins widely and pushes a hand under her shirt until his fingers are wrapped around one of her breasts. The metal of his ring is cold against her skin and she tenses at the sensation. 

 

“Do it again,” he breathes, pressing his lips against her leg. 

 

She does as he says and enjoys it in an odd, sadistic sort of way. The cigarette fizzles against the skin stretching across his shoulder blade and his mouth opens in delight, breath hot on her thigh. They've never decided who’s the masochist, who’s the sadist, they switch enough to make it complicated. Izaya groans and bucks his hardness against her knee and his elbows buckle so his torso is flat against her legs, head in her lap. 

 

“F-fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, Namie-”

 

The cigarette burns out and leaves a dark red mark on his shoulder. There’s fainter, similar marks littered across his body, remnants of the nights she took the reigns. It smells like ash and flesh in the bedroom and Izaya’s finally lost his composure. He slides his boxers off her hips when he recovers from his high and lets out a low, lusty growl when he lowers his head down between her parted knees. 

 

Namie likes Izaya like this, when he’s desperate yet aggressive. His walls are down, he’s just another man with carnal needs and, though he pretends he doesn't care, she can see that her insults about his performance offend him. If she’s honest, he’s  _ good _ but she’s never going to let him know that. His fingers grip her calves tightly as his tongue curls out of his mouth to meet the heat between her legs. She grabs another cigarette from the box on the nightstand and lights it from the candle there. The tip burns brightly and she takes a brief drag before observing the smoke spiralling into the thick air. 

 

He licks and sucks furiously, groaning obscenely against her as if she’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. Namie lets out a breath and raises the cigarette back over him, allowing him to anticipate the heat before she mercilessly assaults his neck and back. It would be an awful act were it not between the two of them, were they both not moaning and writhing in utter ecstasy.

 

This is what comfortable hatred feels like, this is how it tastes. 

 

-0- 

 

Shizuo’s place was cramped but surprisingly clean. It’s a one bedroom apartment, first floor, no neighbours either side, which she imagines is quite lucky considering his inclination for smashing things. It had been far closer than she was expecting, quite literally a few minutes walk from the shop front she had been sitting in. Anri was standing in his kitchen, wringing out her blazer over the small sink. There’s a sound from behind her and she turns to see Shizuo emerging from his bedroom. It’s strange to see him out of the bartending uniform he religiously wears, the simple sweatpants and t-shirt make him less threatening in a way. He’s rubbing a towel over his wet hair, ruffling the bleached locks away from his forehead. With his fringe swept back and his sunglasses off, Anri gets a better look at his face. There’s a few faded scars on the left hand side of his jaw that run down his neck beneath the collar of his shirt. She briefly wonders where he got them but assumes that they are cuts from the same switchblade that was held against her own throat the previous evening. Other than the scars, his skin is blemish free and rather tan for someone who seems to lurk in the dark, grimy night-time of the city. He gives her a small smile - he’s got a much nicer face when he smiles, she thinks. There’s no malice or implication behind it - much nicer than Izaya’s smile. 

 

“Sorry I didn’t have an umbrella or nothin’,” he says. He enters the kitchen and places a bundle of material down on the countertop beside her. “There’s a towel and some clothes. They’ll be big but at least they’re dry.”

 

Anri gives him a grateful smile and takes the bundle in her hands. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

 

“No worries,” he replies, throwing the towel across the back of the sofa. With a grin, he leans back against the countertop and jerks his head toward a door behind her. “Bathroom’s over there. I was gonna have a glass of wine and get some food delivered. You’re welcome to join me or I can call a cab for you?”

 

Her fingers tighten imperceptibly around the clothes in her hands. The girl feels unusually nervous, perhaps because she generally only sees the man standing in front of her in a blind fury. He’s an intimidating creature, so strong. A sudden thought pops into her head - what if he’s strong enough to overcome Saika’s influence? Would the blade even pierce that armoured skin? Anri didn’t consider that possibility at first but now she’s panicking. Shizuo’s a good guy, he wouldn’t try to harm her, right? She barely knows him. Saika’s happy to be drawn, she can feel the blade itching to get out, but Shizuo’s strength and skill are  _ far  _ superior to hers, even with the demon’s power enhancing her abilities. Anxiety makes coldness seep into her skin and she shudders, an action that he seems to notice by the way he raises a brow. 

 

“You okay?” he asks, sounding a little concerned. He pushes himself off the counter and stands up straight, letting his arms drop to his sides. His gaze is gentle, reassuring enough to calm her nerves. “Sorry, I-”

 

“No, sorry. I was just thinking about something,” she says, blinking hard a few times to try and gather her thoughts. She doesn’t trust Shizuo, she doesn’t trust  _ anyone,  _ but she’s certain that he won’t try to harm her. But there’s someone close by who would. That glimpse of fur around the nearby alleyway wasn’t just a mirage, she’s sure of it. The informant has to be lurking outside somewhere. Between the prospect of Izaya’s knife in her back or remaining with Shizuo, she’s definitely going to opt for the latter. Eventually she gives the blond a small smile and nods. “I’d like to stay and eat, if that’s okay with you. Hopefully the rain will have lessened by then.”

 

Shizuo grins and begins to rustle through the drawer beside him. “Sure. Pizza okay? I like pepperoni but we can get whatever.”

 

“Pepperoni is great, thank you,” she agrees. She retrieves her wallet from the pocket of her blazer and lays it on the counter. “There’s cash in there. Please let me pay, it’s the least I can do for your kindness.”

 

“I would protest but I ain’t got no money on me,” he admits. “I was gonna run to the cashpoint but, I mean, if you don’t mind-”

 

“No, no, please. Help yourself,” she insists, heading toward the bathroom. 

 

Just as she closes the door behind her, she hears him call out to her. “If the rain keeps up you’re welcome to stay. I can take the sofa.”

 

A smile creeps over her face, thankfully hidden from view by the door. She turns and starts to change, leaving on her underwear despite the moisture clinging to the lace. Shizuo’s clothes are far too big - she has to pull the drawstring of the bottoms tight around her midriff and she rolls up the t-shirt so she can stuff it into the waistband of the shorts. It looks stupid but it doesn’t matter all that much, the clothes are dry and warm and that’s all she cares about for now. She thinks they must be old, perhaps from his high-school days, as while they’re big on her they look too small to fit Shizuo’s lanky frame and they smell overpoweringly musky, like he’s just sprayed them with deodorant to hide the slightly dusty smell beneath. 

 

When she finishes, she sits on the edge of the bath and allows the tip of Saika to slide out of the palm of her right hand. The cursed voices are begging her to cut Shizuo but she is able to control them, keep them quiet, unlike when she came into contact with Izaya yesterday. The thought of the informant makes her shudder and the blade slips smoothly back beneath her skin, out of sight. It’s horrid to lose control, she thinks, pushing herself upright. Control, peace - these are things she’s worked hard for over the years and she’s not about to let that jumped-up info broker ruin that.

 

With a sigh, she rises and opens the door so that she can head back into the main room. Shizuo is sat on the sofa now, a glass of wine in his hand. The TV is blaring some upbeat title sequence for some cartoon she doesn't know. When he hears the door creak he turns his head and flashes her a smile. 

 

“Hey,” Shizuo greets. His eyes move over the clothes she’s wearing and a slight blush goes over his cheeks. “Shit, sorry they’re too big.”

 

Anri waves a hand and takes a seat in the worn armchair by the sofa. “Thank you. There's really no need to apologise, they're very warm.”

 

“Good,” he answers, happily. He gestures to the bottle of wine on the coffee table and the empty glass beside it. “You wanna drink? Or I've got uh, water. And some sorta fancy cordial but Shinra made it so I wouldn't trust it. Probably some weird experimental shit he wanted to try out on me.” 

 

She laughs softly and reaches for the empty glass. The wine looks too expensive for Shizuo’s taste. He had mentioned seeing his brother earlier that evening on their walk home - perhaps it was a gift. Anri likes wine and it sits well with her. One glass won’t hurt, she thinks, just be careful. “Wine is okay, thank you.”

 

He takes up the bottle, uncorks it and plucks the glass from her hand so he can fill it up. The liquid is dark, almost black and smells incredibly fragrant. While he’s replacing the cork, she takes in how calm he appears. It's bizarre, to see the beast so placid. Shizuo has never hidden his monstrosity, he doesn't seem to care if people see him ripping infrastructure out of the ground or with bloodied knuckles. Although, she thinks, maybe he does care. Maybe he just can't control himself. They’re both monsters, she sympathises with him. 

 

_ Love, love, Shizuo, love- _

 

“I think these are my last two glasses. I broke the others,” he mumbles, one side of his mouth pulling down into a frown. He hands her the beverage and the bare skin of his hand brushes hers. When he looks back up at her, his brows raise and his lips opens in surprise. “What the hell is wrong with your eyes?”

 

Anri opens her mouth to speak and suddenly Saika is going crazy in her head, so loud that she can’t ignore it any longer. The sword acts on its own and forces its way out of her palm, into Shizuo’s wrist. The blond snarls, all his usual anger flooding his expression in an instant. There’s blood seeping down his forearm onto the floor from the large tear Saika has made. Shizuo grunts and rips his arm backward, pulling the blade from the wound. He stands, holding the bloody gash with his other hand and bares his teeth at Anri, who is staring at Saika in disbelief. The demonic sword has defied her for the second time in the last two days - what is going on? 

 

“What the fuck?” Shizuo roars, looking down at the sword. He didn’t see her draw any knife, the damn thing looks like it’s protruding from her palm. The girl is staring at him with wide eyes but even that innocent, slightly surprised look is not enough to quell the rage that’s now alight in his chest. “You workin’ with the flea? Did he tell you to kill me?”

 

“How are you-?” she begins, confused. His eyes are still brown, she can’t hear his thoughts or communicate with him. Saika’s moaning in her ear, just as mystified by the bloody monster in front of her. “I don’t understand.”

 

The next thing she knew, Shizuo’s fist was curling around the front of her shirt and she was hoisted into the air. He shakes her back and forth, not aggressively enough to really harm her but she feels her brain rattle around her skull and it breaks her out of her confusion. Now, faced with the intense glare and the feral way he bares his teeth, she’s terrified. 

 

“Are you?” he growls, barely feeling the way she’s kicking him and scratching the hand around her shirt. “You one of Izaya’s playthings?”

 

“No, let me go, please,” she pleads, shaking her head. “I’m nothing to do with Izaya!”

 

Shizuo scoffs and drops her to the floor, clearly too far gone to believe her. Anri collapses to her knees and turns her head up to look at him. His fists are clenched, breathing heavy, as if he’s on the verge of exploding. For a moment she considers drawing Saika again to protect herself, even though she knew that would be a futile effort in the long run - there was no way she could beat this - this  _ thing.  _ But then Shizuo lets out a rough noise and turns away from her, pounding a fist against the wall. Blood from the wound splatters against the brick, which has now formed a crater around his hand. Saika’s blade should cause such intense pain that it forces the mind of the victim to submit to the demon’s will but Shizuo doesn’t even appear to feel even a slight ache. She scrabbles to her feet when his fist lands on the plaster, heart pounding loudly in her ears. 

 

“Get out,” he hisses, screwing his eyes shut. “Right now.”

 

Anri holds up a hand, opens her mouth to speak but Shizuo turns to face her, eyes blazing with anger and she takes a step back in terror. 

 

“Get. Out,” his voice is an unpleasant rumble, originating somewhere deep in his chest. “Get the  _ fuck  _ out. For both our sakes.”

 

“I-” she begins. She hesitates, then gathers her clothes and quickly pulls on her shoes. Shizuo looks like he’s about to burst, she can’t stay here. Outside there’s the possibility of Izaya but also the chance to run from both of them. This is insane, Saika’s rebellion terrifies her. What if the sword takes control of her, what if she begins to listen to the whispering voices that plague her everyday - no, that cannot be allowed to happen. She can smell cigarette smoke from behind her as she rushes to the door and as she walks into the torrential rain, she hears him call after her. 

 

“Tell the  _ flea  _ I’ll kill him next time I see him.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
